


Ended Up Sexting About Spongebob

by bruvebanner



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Really Shouldn't, Drunk Texting, M/M, Spongebob - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt, Woops, it's short and weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruvebanner/pseuds/bruvebanner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team bonding night out ends up a bit more interesting than anyone had intended. Clint should not have his phone with him while drunk. </p><p>Tumblr Prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ended Up Sexting About Spongebob

(479): It all started with sending him a text about Spongebob. It escalated from there.

No one was really sure what had happened last night. They’d gone out for drinks at Tony’s insistence—as usual—and had ended up at some dive bar in the bad part of Chicago with Steve telling stories about ‘back in his day’ like he was their grandfather and Thor laughing between gulps of beer like he was about to bust a gut.  
Okay, so, maybe Natasha knew a little bit about what happened, but she wasn’t about to tell.   
Clint had shown her the text, at least—he’d done four Yeager bombs and a purple nurple shot by then and was nearly down for the count—while he was giggling and falling over himself as he showed her his phone.

To: Big Green  
I want you to firmly grasp it. |∴◉ ϖ ◉∴|   
\--The Hawk

Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was because he’d been watching SpongeBob with Thor before they left—‘To show him the wonders of modern television’—who knows; but for some god awful reason he’d decided to text that to Bruce, who was sitting quiet and unobtrusive at the other end of the bar, with no context except for a picture of the yellow square himself. Natasha had called Clint an idiot, pushed his drunken ass out of his chair, and the others had erupted into laughter again, and the text was forgotten.  
Until Bruce checked his phone four minutes later.  
Clint, who was busy trying to explain his ideas on the String Theory to Tony—which he knew nothing about and never, in his life, had actually studied—paused and hiccupped, checking his phone and frowning for a moment. No one was really paying attention—not until Clint’s face lit up like a red flare, and Tony tried to snatch his phone, demanding to know what dirty pictures some secret admirer was sending him on such a sacred night as their drinking/bonding nights. Clint was quick, dodging away from Tony and the other, less drunk prying eyes at the bar.  
“I don’t sext and tell,” he replied matter of fact-ly, to which everyone stared. “Just—just—shut up,” he grumbled, and Tony had turned to a silent Bruce, who blinked innocently and shrugged.  
It got progressively worse as the night went on, it would seem. Clint would slowly come back to the conversation, ignoring all questions and slapping Tony around when he tried to steal his phone—and then he’d get another text and he’d turn as red as an apple, coughing or grumbling about lack of air-conditioning in the place before shuffling off to reply.  
It all got a bit fuzzy around midnight, with Tony buying three extra rounds of shots for the team—and drinking Bruce’s untouched shots, who was seeming overly pleased with his sober self—and they all stumbled out of the bar, Tony demanding they go to a better bar, with better seats and hotter woman.  
Somewhere between that bar and the next, they lost Bruce and Clint.  
Well, they say lost; Natasha may have caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, maybe two people disappearing down an alley, but no one heard it from her.  
And, well, Steve got concerned, Thor boisterously declared that their friends had been kidnapped and must be saved from the villainous street rats who dare do such a thing, and Natasha made a bet with a slurring Tony that they were necking in some corner of the city. (She may have made two thousand dollars off of it.)  
Things may have been alright for Bruce and Clint, but Thor and Natasha got rowdy with some thuggish locals, Steve was in a scrappy mood, and Tony sucked at trying to calm things down, so the others all managed to get dragged into custody by some very harried looking cops, with Thor passing out in the back of the cop car and Tony demanding they do body shots before they go near any prison.  
So, yeah, no one really knew what happened last night. At least, that’s what Bruce and Clint told Fury, as he demanded to know why they’d allowed their teammates to get arrested, the vein in his temple fit to bursting as he pointed at them accusingly—Clint, with his turtleneck on in 90 degree weather and Bruce with a very smug, very calm look on his face.

To: Spider Bitch  
It all started with sending him a text about Spongebob. It escalated from there.  
\--The Hawk

Natasha, on the other hand, demanded all the gory details of their late-night adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> Short, dumb, and wild. But it was fun to write, so no complaints.


End file.
